


men don't cry, they water their beards

by De_Nugis



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Beards (Facial Hair), Flirting, M/M, Sam's Angst Beard, Witchcraft, mentions of character death (implied)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 02:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16031078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/De_Nugis/pseuds/De_Nugis
Summary: People are responding to Sam differently these days. He's a little suspicious.





	men don't cry, they water their beards

**Author's Note:**

  * For [themegalosaurus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/themegalosaurus/gifts).



> Inspired by themegalosaurus's [glorious Tumblr post on bearded!Sam](http://themegalosaurus.tumblr.com/post/178178765678/denugis-replied-to-your-post-denugis-replied-to) and [the follow-up.](http://themegalosaurus.tumblr.com/post/178178765678/denugis-replied-to-your-post-denugis-replied-to)
> 
> Title stolen from a terrible collection of beard quotes. TIL: collections of beard quotes are mostly really bad.
> 
> I haven't specified how the doll!Alicia situation was resolved, but it's implied that Max let her move on somehow, so background character death warning.
> 
> Some cracky s14 speculation, but no actual spoilers beyond Sam's hirsuteness.

“Is this about Alicia? Is that why you think I’d slip you love-spelled beard oil?”

“No! I, uh, I know how messed up things can get when you’re grieving. I’m not, I’m not saying anything was OK about that, but I get it. I do kind of live in a big glass house when it comes to siblings. It’s not like you didn’t do the right thing in the end, for her. I’m, uh, I know you don’t want to hear this, but I’m sorry. I’m really just sorry it all,” _it all_ , your mom, your twin sister, twice over, Jesus, Sam, fuck this up worse, “happened.”

Sam should probably have just shut up. Max had made it very clear when he gave Sam the summary version of the doll thing that sympathy wasn’t welcome. And Sam’s certainly not the guy to give absolution. But Max still looks … bruised, sort of, in a way that’s all too familiar. Sam wanted to say something.

FaceTime isn’t the best for conveying emotion, but Sam sees Max’s expression shut down. Yeah, that was off limits. That’s fair. Max was the one who brought up Alicia, but mentioning something doesn’t mean that you want to talk about it. Sam mentions Dean, sometimes.

“Yeah, what I really don’t want to hear is that I _did the right thing_ ,” Max says. “So let’s move on from that.”

Right, so Sam should go back to accusing Max of bewitching his beard. Which sounds really stupid, now. But there’s still a prickle of unease at the back of his mind. Even in the farthest booth of the diner, with his head angled down towards his phone, Sam can feel the waitress looking at him from behind the counter. It’s ridiculous to be hung up on this, but it’s just weird.

“You’re sure you didn’t give me the recipe for the guy-seducing beard oil,” or, like, Boisterous Bi Beard Balm — the waitress is glancing his way again —, “uh, maybe by accident?”

Sam’s ready to pass off this whole really bad idea call as a joke, but Max isn’t back to joking mode, though he’s not giving Sam that keep-out glower now, either. He leans into the phone instead, so close that the few meager inches of screen give off an illusion of presence, ambient body heat, a hint of aftershave. Sam should maybe get his mind off men’s grooming products.

“I learned witchcraft from my mom,” says Max, “and that means I learned what you don’t do, if you’re a good person. I fucked up big time, I know, but I don’t do what you’re thinking. I don’t seduce people by taking their choice away. I wouldn’t do that, or help anyone do that, or trick someone into doing something that did that. I want to believe you get me enough to know that.”

Max’s voice is quiet, now, intense, and it makes something crackle between them, something that hadn’t come back into play before this. And, yeah, Sam knows. He may be paranoid when it comes to people messing with him, but those couple of times they hooked up, back before, Sam knows that wasn’t witchcraft. It wasn’t Max doing anything to him. It was Max being a nice guy, and interesting to talk to about sigils, and hot. It was Sam thinking that maybe someone in the life, or close enough, someone who gets it, maybe that’s someone you can give your number to and they might actually call. And Max had. And then he hadn’t. Which is pretty understandable, now. It had been understandable even before Sam knew about the doll part. Losing people changes you. 

“No,” he says. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I bothered you. I’ll, uh. I’ll call in a few days. Let you know if I get anywhere with that summoning.” Sam’s not sure he can deal with that current of renewed possibility right now. Not if there’s some weird beard thing going on, even if Max’s witchy beard oil isn’t the culprit. Max had pretty clearly not wanted to revive anything up to today. Now maybe he does. Coincidence?

“On the house,” says the waitress over Sam’s shoulder. Sam jumps. The waitress sets down Sam’s unordered third cup of coffee, steam curling up in a heavenly whiff of caffeine.

Sam hears a faint snort from his phone. 

“Thanks,” he says. The waitress hovers.

“I’m, uh, thanks,” Sam says again, “I’m just, uh, talking to my boyfriend, so …”

“Lucky guy,” says the waitress, and, thank God, she heads back to the counter. Though that means Sam has to face Max. Lying about Max, passing him off as a boyfriend, that’s pretty fucking presumptuous, under the circumstances. 

Max is hard to face, because he’s doubled over laughing. There’s a warmth in Sam’s stomach at the sound. Not just the old, probably-a-mistake-now attraction — it’s good to see Max laugh, to see that familiar bruised look chased off for the moment.

“Sorry,” says Sam, when Max is back to normal.

Max waves his hand expansively. “I accept your implicit plea of self-defense,” he says. “Hey, you called for advice. You want to hear my professional witch take on what’s going on with the sex god effect? I got an idea, just now.”

Maybe it’s something to do with the coffee. No, that doesn’t make sense. Sam’s never been to this diner before. Unless the waitress is a witch. Maybe Max saw her over Sam’s shoulder, recognized her.

“What?” says Sam. 

Max leans into the phone again, face gone solemn.

“I know I’m the bearer of bad tidings here, Sam,” he says, “but it’s definitely not a seductive beard oil spell. Though I like to think my formula contributed extra gloss, maybe even a few highlights. But that’s as far as my spellwork is taking you. The rest is all you.”

Sam’s stomach plummets with misgiving. What if it has been Sam all along? Some ugly part of him that wants to be out of Dean’s shadow, that’s taking advantage, now. Some part of Sam always does take advantage. Sam doing things to people without even knowing it. He should never have stopped shaving. He should have kept going, kept right on scraping away till he got down to the latest layer of _something wrong_.

“What do you mean?” he asks. “How am I doing it?”

Max grins suddenly, blinding. 

“This is my expert witch consultant diagnosis: you, Sam Winchester, are hot. The new look is approaching surface-of-the-sun-level hot. Look,” Max’s voice deepens with mock-concern, “I know that this is a lot to take in. It’s OK if you don’t want to talk about it now. Accepting yourself as hot can take time to process. But at some point you’re gonna have to come to terms with it.”

“Um,” says Sam. He’s blushing, which is ridiculous. He’s not the hot one, that’s established. Though maybe some people do default to Sam when Dean’s not around. That could be it. Maybe people are just reacting to a Dean-shaped absence beside him that Sam is projecting.

Max is staring at him with one eyebrow raised, à la Spock.

“I can think of something that might cut down on the people hitting on you out of nowhere,” he says, “if you want to try my expert witch methods.”

Sam’s not sure he wants whatever attention-deflecting beard stuff Max might be about to propose. But he’s not ready to hang up, either. Max flirting or teasing or joking or whatever, that’s good, like Max laughing. Like maybe the Alicia thing won’t have destroyed him. It’s a front right now, yeah, Sam’s not too dense to see that, but it’s also something maybe coming back, like a bit of green after winter.

“What?” he says. “I don’t really want magically off-putting facial hair, either. I guess I could just shave, if you think that the beard’s a factor.”

“That wasn’t what I was thinking. I think shaving’s the wrong way to go. I might even go so far as to call it a crime. But you notice your waitress backed off when you mentioned a boyfriend? If you were seeing someone, that could give you cover. Just while you get used to being a glowing beacon of sexual allure.”

“Are you, uh…, Sam trails off. 

“It’s possible I might be in Kansas next weekend,” says Max.

Sam hesitates. Him and Max, they’ve got more in common now. Grieving, doing stupid things, trying not to do stupid things. Common ground is supposed to be good, but this could be a problem. And Sam’s got Mom back and they’re going to get Dean back, and keep him. Max could hate him for that. Sam might, in Max’s place.

Then again, Max is flirting. Maybe he needs that right now, to be that guy. Maybe Sam needs that. The idea of talking about sigils, or about something totally unrelated, having a nice dinner, getting laid, that’s suddenly _need_ , intolerable, pulsing in Sam’s brain. Somewhere where Not Bobby isn’t. Somewhere away. _Away_ has always been an offer Sam can't easily refuse.

“I guess you could give me some guidance,” he says, “with the coming to terms with being hot thing. You’ve got mentor cred on that one.”

“Are you saying I’m hot?” says Max.

Sam remembers how Max’s mouth tasted.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I could give you my expert hunter diagnosis, but I’d have to do it in person.”

Sam can hear Max breathing over the phone.

“I’ll call when I get there,” Max says.


End file.
